The Pathologist and the Detective
by Jess37810
Summary: A series of Sherlolly One-shots at random times during their relationship.
1. Getting Started

**I've decided to start a Sherlolly one-shot collection. The updates are going to be random, as are the stories. Enjoy**

Molly Hooper cursed, slamming her front door shut and threw her bag to the floor, not caring where it landed. The resulting meow told her near the cat.

A single tear had already made its way down her cheek and more threatened to follow as her vision blurred.

She collapsed onto the sofa with her coat still on, immediately dropping her head to her hands.

She'd done it. She'd finally done it. Mousey Molly had outright told Sherlock that she loved him.

And he just stood there.

And stood there.

And stood there.

Then turned on his heel and left the morgue.

He only had to say something. Anything at all. She would've taken anything, even a head tilt. But not a blank stare.

"I'm so stupid," she muttered. Se knew he didn't, couldn't feel the same way about her. And if he could, why would be choose her. She was only a pathologist. She wasn't Irene Adler. She wasn't Janine. She wasn't a tall, beautiful woman that Sherlock would surely eventually fall for. She was just Molly. Stupid Molly Hooper with her stupid crushes.

She'd liked Jim, until she found out who he was anyway. He had been nice to her. Kind and funny and absolutely adored Toby. He didn't when she'd ramble on about her day. He was sweet. And a murderer.

And she'd loved Tom too. Was all set and ready to marry him. But she'd eventually grown tired of him and him of her. So he broke it off. It didn't break her heart as much as she'd thought it would. Most likely due to the fact that Sherlock had returned and with Sherlock back she still might have a chance with him.

So much for that idea.

Molly knew what rejection was, had seen it and felt it plenty of times all ready in her lifetime. What was one more to add to the pile.

Molly groaned, gripping her brown hair between her fingers, wishing she could pull it out.

"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. He won't even come to the morgue anymore."

There was a knock at the door, which Molly ignored, hoping whoever it was would just think she wasn't home.

Toby rubbed up against her legs sympathetically. Or he was looking for food. Probably the latter.

The person knocked on the door again and Molly cursed her luck, shoving herself off the sofa and stomped over to the door, flinging it open.

She had been about to let off a rant of why she should be left alone when she was struck dumb with who was standing at her door.

Sherlock.

"What?!" She started angrily, crossing her arms over her chest.

Sherlock didn't say anything for a moment, tilting his head and looking down at her. "You left," he said quietly. "Why?"

Molly didn't answer. He was the great Sherlock Holmes. He should know why she'd left the morgue.

"You left first," she pointed out, then moving to shut the door.

His arm shot out and stopped it from closing completely, causing him to take a step closer to her.

"I shouldn't have."

Molly took a moment to process that.

"Sherlock, what are you talking about? Please, just go." She tried closing the door again but he wouldn't relent, his strength maxing hers.

"Sherlock. I don't want to talk to you. Please."

Something flashed in his eyes which Molly associated with pain. But still, he didn't leave. Instead, he took another step forewords, his free hand moving to her cheek and he pulled her face up to his.

And he kissed her.


	2. Rainy Days

**Wow, I got a great response from this, wasn't really expecting that :D. Anyway, here's another one-shot, hope you leave some reviews, they make me feel warm and fuzzy inside.**

Molly hurried down the sidewalk, squinting through the sheets of rain that fell. It hadn't been raining when she left work for the day, so she'd decided that a walk would be great.

It wasn't great.

She cursed her luck, pulling her coat tighter around herself, trying to salvage some heat. Of all the days to leave her phone at home it had to be this one.

A taxi drove past, but to Molly's dismay, it was occupied. Quickening her step, she didn't hear it stop. Footsteps splashed behind her as someone ran to catch up to where she was.

"Molly!" They called, causing her to pause and turn around at the familiar baritone voice.

"Sherlock?" She asked, puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

He came to a stop beside her, coat collar flipped up against the wind, his curls a wonderful mess from the wind.

"I stopped by your flat, you weren't home, so I figured you must still be at work. I saw you walking." He replied, shaking water out of his eyes.

Molly glanced behind him, seeing that the cabbie had driven away.

Shivering, she motioned her head downy the stretch of sidewalk. "Can we keep going, I want to get out of the rain."

They turned and set back off towards Molly's flat as thunder rumbled over head. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Sherlock doing something with his coat and suddenly it was being held over both their heads, his longs arms being its support.

"Sherlock, you'll freeze," she hissed through her teeth. "Or get a cold at the very least."

"I'll be fine," he assured her, moving his arm slightly so she was pressed against his side as they walked.

His body heat was a welcome intrusion as she lent instinctively closer to him. It cut through the cold, warming her to her bones. Molly could smell his violin rosin and his ginger scented body wash, a too familiar scent now it seemed, as she could practically pick it out at the store for him.

Lightening flashed overhead, jarring Molly from her thoughts and she jumped slightly at the light.

Sherlock seemed to be saying something, but she couldn't hear.

"What?" She half yelled and he stopped down a little to be closer to her ear.

"Baker Street is closer. We should go there."

Soaked through the skin, Molly couldn't not agree so they continued onto a different route, this one bringing them to Sherlocks.

He threw the door wide open at 221 Baker Street, then had to struggle to get it closed against the winds resistance.

"Sherlock!" they heard coming from the other flat and the muffled sound of footsteps came towards them. "Is that you? What ever were you doing out in this storm?"

Mrs Hudson came into view, an apron wrapped around her waist with visible signs of flour on it. Her face brightened at the sight of Molly.

"Oh, hello Molly dear," she exclaimed, smiling over at the two, then her brows furrowed slightly. "You're both soaked! You'd best go up and change before you catch hypothermia. I'll bring up some tea later."

Sherlock let Molly ahead of him as stooped to kiss Mrs Hudson's cheek. "And biscuits?"

"How did you-" she paused, then swatted at his chest. "Oh, go away you."

Chuckling, he turned and followed his pathologist up the stairs to 221B.

Molly stood in the middle of his flat, able to get in only because he never locked the door. She had a key if he decided to anyway. She glanced around, eyes falling onto the fireplace and she moved towards it, turning the electric heater on to get some warmth into her.

Sherlock entered a moment later, the door clicking shut behind him as he watched her, still wearing his coat, try to warm up the flat.

"Sherlock," she spoke, looking over her shoulder as she shivered. "Can I borrow a shirt?" She asked quietly, quickly looking back down towards her shoes and the small puddle of water that was appearing on the floor around her.

"Yes, of course," he replied, shaking out his curls. "They're in...well, you know where they are."

Molly nodded turning and hurrying to Sherlocks room, eager to change out of her damp clothing into something dry.

His coat hit the floor, quickly followed by her jumper and work trousers, all still wet. She went to grab the first shirt she saw-a nice, grey one- but a flash of purple made her stop and pick that one instead. It was her favorite shirt of his after all. Certainly looked good on him.

They switched places and Molly waited on the couch, knees pulled up to her chest with the shirt pulled down over them. A shuffling from down the hall told her he was coming back.

"Here," he murmured, motioning for her to move and he sat behind her, throwing a blanket over the two of them.

Molly curled into her boyfriends-partner, Molly reminded herself. Sherlock detested being called her boyfriend, even if she did it when he wasn't with her. She curled into his chest, snuggling into his warmth, tucking her head underneath his chin as his arms wrapped around her.

"Better?"He whispered into her hair, kissing the top of her head at the same time.

"Mmhmm," she mumbled sleepily in reply, pressing her face deeper into his cotton sleep shirt. The rain only pounded harder against the windows and she gave a small, involuntary shiver, causing him to only hold her tighter. "Much better."


	3. Marry Me Miss Molly

Molly Hooper trudged up the stairs to her flat, her normally happy face replaced by a grimace. Her co-worker, Michael, had called off work because his wife had gone into labour, meaning that Molly had had to stay back a couple hours longer than usual. She had stupidly forgotten her purse in the cab she had taken to work in the morning and didn't manage to contact the driver. So she had to walk the six blocks from St. Bart's to her flat. That would've been fine, if only it hadn't started to pour. So now, the cold settling in her bones, she scraped the key against the lock, shivering slightly as she tried to get it in, only to find that the door was in fact, unlocked.

"Sherlock's home then," she muttered, knowing that she should've been happy her boyfriend had returned from his case, but wasn't really in the mood.

Molly opened the door, seeing him stretched out on the couch, cell phone perched between his hands as he stared up at the ceiling.

It wasn't until she'd reached the bedroom that he acknowledged her presence.

"You're later than usual," she heard through the crack in the door. "You're usually home by five-thirty. Did you get new hours while I was gone?"

Leave it to Sherlock to know her work schedule better than she did.

"No," she mumbled a reply. "Tanya's having her baby. Michael called off."

"Michael, Michael, is that the tall one or the fat one?" He asked, never really bothering to learn her colleague's names.

"The tall one."

Sherlock probably would've said more, and Molly would've heard if she hadn't of turned the shower on and stepped in, letting the hot water chase away the cold. She tipped her head back, letting the heated water flow over her face, sighing contently.

After letting herself stay in the shower longer than necessary, she got out, wrapping herself in a towel and padding out into their bedroom, rooting around in the dresser for her night gown, and then wrapping her dressing robe securely around her body before shuffling out into the kitchen in search of food.

Sherlock was still on the couch, apparently he hadn't moved and Molly wondered whether he had actually fallen asleep after being gone for a couple of days, none of which he probably slept, or ate, knowing him.

As she moved closer to the sofa, the smell of food hit her nose and she spotted the Chinese take-out on the coffee table beside the chair. Her favorite.

Smiling, she took the bag of food and sat down on the end of the couch, moving Sherlock's feet out of the way in the process, chuckling softly when he grunted in his sleep, turning on his side to curl his long legs up to his chest.

Molly quietly ate her food, happy to finally have something to eat since she'd missed lunch, only having a cup of coffee. Sherlock stayed asleep all while she was eating, amusing her when he let out a snore.

Eventually, Sherlock woke up; Molly could see him blinking away the sleep in his eyes. He glanced over at Molly, watching her put the garbage back on the table and slowly sat up, switching sides so he could lay his head in her lap, gazing up at her.

"Comfy?" She smiled, running her fingers through her dark curls.

"Quite," he replied, snuggling closer to her stomach, closing his eyes again, but she knew he wasn't sleeping.

Molly brushed her fingers across his forehead softly, tracing his brow.

"I love you," she murmured, leaning down to kiss his forehead. Sitting back up, his eyes widened fully, watching her carefully. She felt as if he was doing another deduction.

Since they'd gotten together, he'd lessened to amount of them he'd do on her, and if he did any, he kept them to himself. Most of the time anyway.

"Marry me, Molly."

He said the words so quietly she almost didn't hear them, and certainly didn't think she'd heard him correctly.

"What?" She asked, furrowing her brow slightly.

"Marry me."

Her eyes widening, she looked down at him, wondering if he was just pulling a joke, that this had been just like what he did with Janine. But there were no signs of doubt or lies, no hidden smirks. He was being serious. She thinks so, anyway.

"Really?" She squeaked, cursing herself in her head for her voice. But if he was serious, then it'd be a good reason to be excited.

"Yes," he gave a shy smile, so unlike him. "Molly Hooper, will you marry me."

She bit her lip to keep the giggle in and nodded a little bit too enthusiastically, tears appearing at the corner of her eyes.

"Yes. Yes of course," she grinned, leaning down again to kiss him properly this time. "Yes."

"You're crying," he whispered, raising a hand to wipe away a stray tear. "Did I do something wrong?" He sounded sincerely nervous.

"No, no you incredible man. You didn't do it wrong," she kissed him again, happy to see him relaxing a little. "You did it perfectly."

"I don't have a ring," he murmured against her lips, starting to think he should have waited until he did.

"I don't need one," Molly replied, then corrected herself, giving him a smile. "Not yet, anyway."

He chuckled softly, nuzzling into her stomach, her hands moving back through his hair.

"Molly," Sherlock whispered, his voice slightly muffled by her dressing robe.

"Mhm?" she hummed in reply, eyes closing a little from the exhaustion of the day.

"I love you too."

**Here you go guys, another random fluffy one-shot. I forgot to mention it before, but I'll gladly take ideas or prompts from anyone if you want me to write something. It might not get done mind you, but I'll try.**


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